


All The Things He Said

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Coming Out, Fourth of July, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7559563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boys say the darndest things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nursey/Dex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nursey/dex, rated t

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for homophobia/homophobic language, involuntary outing

“Nurse, just – get out, alright?” Dex bites out through clipped breaths. He flies off the handle all the time, and he’s used to riding out the recklessness that simmers under his skin, but this is different. If he tries to say much more, his voice is going to buckle. His eyes burn, and all at once he’s furious and terrified.

Nursey is the worst kind of catalyst, and Dex really doesn’t want him around for the fallout. Of all people, not him; not the one person who’s already convinced Dex is an uptight basket case.

“We were totally in sync today,” Nursey says, ignoring Dex completely and sitting next to him on the bench. Dex is still in his boxers with his towel draped across one shoulder. He hasn’t moved much at all except to take a seat since reading the text from his cousin.

With his beanie tugged over his damp hair and his obnoxious baja hoodie, he’s already hard to look at for how easily he wears the casual-cool look. Now, Dex is too vulnerable to even think about eye contact, so he shrugs and stares at the far wall. Nursey’s smarter than the guys give him credit for; he’ll take the hint.

Or, he’ll rest his palm on the nape of Dex’s neck and press where he shouldn’t.

“That carries off the ice, dude. I can totally tell when something’s up.”

“Get out, _please_ ,” Dex repeats. He tries everything to steady his voice – he squares his jaw, he clears his throat, he squeezes his eyes shut – but it warbles and shatters at the last second. Dex’s throat squeezes and he can feel tears against the heat of his cheeks.

“Hey, what’s happening?”

“Just – Fine, whatever. See for yourself,” he grinds out. He unlocks his phone and hands it to Nursey, but rather than watch him read the screen, Dex buries his face in the towel from his shoulder.

Nurse’s thumb runs against the grain of Dex’s hair gently, and his other hand tugs the towel away after Dex has heard his cell thump against the bench.

“You had gay porn at home?” Nursey asks blandly, and a year ago Dex would’ve been sure he was mocking him.

Dex can’t speak, his jaw shuddering, but even though it makes the corners of his eyes sting, he looks over at Nurse and nods.

“And your mom found it?” he asks as though he hasn’t read the text from Dex’s cousin. As though, _your mom found your stash of twinky shit. she hasn’t stopped crying about it to my mom. your dad thinks you should come home but i told him the damage was already done etc,_ was ambiguous at all.

“No offense, but who the fuck keeps actual, physical porn anymore?”

The punch Dex delivers to Nursey’s solar plexus is as reflexive as it is well-deserved, but he still laughs weakly and mutters, “We only had one computer at home. I thought this would be safer.”

“Dex,” Nursey starts, full of the kind of unconditional support that Dex really can’t afford to take for granted anymore. “Bring it in, Dex.”

And somehow, Dex is crushing his face into the rough weave of Nursey’s sweatshirt, holding his arms limp between them so that when Nurse wraps him in a hug, he’d totally enveloped.

“Shh, look. Coming out is scary shit. It’s not fair that you didn’t get to do it for yourself, you know?” Nursey’s cheek rests on the crown of Dex’s head and the words vibrate through him, rumbling through Nursey’s chest, too, so Dex is surrounded by the sound. “It’s really fucking cool that you told me, though. I’m proud. And, you know. Honored.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dex grumbles, turning his knees into the lee of Nursey’s thighs.

“I am. It’s a big deal, and it means a lot that you trust me this much, Poindexter. I’m gonna earn it.”

It took a long time to get here, but even with the world collapsing around him, Derek Nurse, the bane of his existence, already has.


	2. Bitty/Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bitty/jack, rated g

July in Georgia has Jack relieved that he hadn’t entertained talks with the Lightning reps who’d contacted his agent. He’s only ever been to Florida in the season, and it had been a humid mess then. He’s not sure he could handle that on top of the oppressive heat seeping like bathwater through his clothes.

The Bittles seem immune to it; Bitty’s wearing a riff on his Spring C outfit that’s really – but Suzanne is wearing a cotton button-down and denim shorts just like Jack, and she looks perfectly content while she drives with the window rolled to pick up a breeze.

Jack and Bitty have to share the one-and-a-half sized passenger seat of the minivan because the back rows are already packed for, from what Jack can tell, at least one fair, two parades, and a fireworks show in which the Bittle family are integral. The warmth of Bitty’s skin against Jack’s side, all along his side from shoulder to ankle, should be too much. Jack is sweaty and hot, but he’ll risk heat stroke before he moves an inch closer to the door.

***

The fair is that day, but Suzanne takes pity on Jack and drives them to her home so he can borrow one of Bitty’s bigger shirts out of a lighter fabric.

By the grace of god, their house is air conditioned, and when Bitty leads Jack to his bedroom, Jack blames the rise of hair on his arms and chest on the chill as he slips out of his shirt.

“Here,” Bitty huffs, tossing a light, worn t-shirt at Jack. “It’s from summer camp a while back. Coach ordered a large ‘cause he thought I might grow into it.”

Jack struggles into it, forgetting to breathe when Bitty mentions he’s really only ever slept in it. When he finally works it on, the shoulders are too tight to even right the bottom, and he lets his arms dangle at his sides. A forlorn look at Bittle, and suddenly they’re both laughing.

“Alright, no sleeves. I can work with that. I think I have some old pinnies around here,” he rambles, spinning around to find the right dresser.

“Uh, Bittle – “ Jack splutters, grabbing at the collar with either hand but missing with both by inches. The bottom rides halfway up his stomach, and _maybe_ Jack stretches a little more than necessary, but mostly he’s chuckling inanely.

Hands on his hips, Bitty’s lips quiver with the effort of maintaining his stern frown as he says, “Mr. Zimmermann, you are _helpless_.”

Then Bitty is right up against him, fingers against his skin and whole body leaning against his for balance, hiking the t-shirt up until even his reach on tip-toe isn’t high enough.

Jack isn’t laughing anymore. Not when Bitty says, “Bend over,” and finishes the job.

“Now, this’ll be a little short, but crop tops are in this season,” he says, chipper as ever.  


“You really haven’t forgiven me for am practices, have you?”

***

Suzanne wants a picture of the two of them, and even though it’s Bitty who backs up until he’s under Jack’s arm, Jack is the one whose hand rests in Bitty’s hair and whose eyes – of which there’s photographic evidence – don’t leave Bitty’s smile.

Bitty has a baby cousin, and she _adores_ Jack. Her mother doesn’t let strangers hold her, but every time Jack is out of her sight, she wails hard enough to break his heart. She becomes Bitty’s responsibility, and unless Jack wants a dozen drunk parents’ and grandparents’ buzz killed by a caterwauling toddler, especially when they know who to blame, he has to spend the night glued to Bitty’s hip. Peek-a-boo and patty-cake are definitely a hardship – and that’s not taking the baby into account – but Jack’s had worse nights.

There’s a bluegrass concert that devolves into a jam band, and Bitty wants to dance. Jack never learned whatever step he’s doing, but Bitty’s a good, encouraging lead, and his laugh sets off the rhythm of the washboard perfectly. The hand on his hip every time they spin back together is small, but it’s steady and solid.

It’s a terrible holiday.

***  


Bitty drives him back to the airport, and Jack spends the ride with his elbow out the open window and the open palm of his other hand outstretched between them. The weight of his tongue against the roof of his mouth is oppressive; he feels sick with how much he wishes he weren’t leaving Bitty behind when he boards his flight.

Even worse, every time he’s had the chance to say it and let the opportunity pass drags him down. He feels tethered to every moment this trip when he held back, and now he’s so securely anchored there’s no way to move forward without sinking.

Bitty parks even though it’ll end up costing about forty dollars for less than an hour so he can walk Jack to the gate. Their elbows brush on the walk, and just when Jack thinks his lungs are about to burst, Bitty stops cold and pulls Jack’s bags out of his grip.  


“What’s – “ His duffels thud uselessly on the ground; Bitty rushes him before he can distinguish wish from reality.  


Jack hasn’t ever been hugged quite like this. Shitty’s always been about brotherly affection, and his parents aren’t stingy with embraces or kisses on his cheek. But with Eric’s arms around his waist and his head tucked under Jack’s chin, Jack feels like he was made to be held this way.

Even better, when he holds Bitty’s shoulders, he feels like maybe Bitty was made for Jack to hold him.

“Don’t you dare be a stranger, Jack,” Bitty sniffles.

He tightens his arms and buries his nose in the cowlick at the crown of Bitty’s head.

“You’re never gonna get rid of me, you know that?”

If Jack kisses Bitty’s hair, he’s the only one who’ll ever know.  


“I’m glad.”  



	3. Bitty/Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bitty/jack, rated g

Bitty doesn’t usually sit at the kitchen table with the rest of the team. Mostly, it’s a logistical nightmare – there are only four chairs, there are five residents, and at any given time there are at least four or five other people cycling through. It’s a melee to see who can get their butt in which seat the fastest, and Eric isn’t as scrappy as Lardo. He’s better off standing, and he doesn’t mind because half the time he’s clearing the dishes or moving onto his next project before he thinks to slow down.

Jack is the one who called him on it, because Jack is whatever the opposite of criminally negligent is. Bitty drew the line when he tried to foist Annie’s croissants and muffins on him along with their coffees. Jack obviously wasn’t hurting for money, but it was ridiculous to buy an average danish when Bitty had all the fixings for a half dozen _excellent danishes_ back home.

It’s a luxury Bitty knows Jack doesn’t have the time for, but once or twice a week, they’ll go for a run, grab a coffee on their way back, and Bitty will whip something together that can bake while they shower up. Jack must know Eric would lapse into frazzled entertainer mode the moment another soul made an appearance, because the haus is always empty. Classes or one-on-one time with the coaches, or whatever hobbies the guys who aren’t Lardo pretend they have that don’t pertain to hockey.

“Hey, could you just sit for a second, Bittle?”

A frown isn’t an unusual look for Jack, but he hasn’t touched his mini pie, and for all that he plays coy, Jack is as gone on Bitty’s pastry as anyone else who’s tried it. Something’s bothering him.

“Sure, Jack. I can do that,” he says with a smirk, because it wouldn’t do to make Jack feel worse by acting like something’s wrong.

Jack is a delicate creature, and Bitty only wishes he’d have more time to figure out how to work with him.

“I wanted to tell you first,” Jack starts, eyes boring into Bitty’s. His brows pull together in an intense frown, and suddenly Eric is _so_ sure there’s bad news coming that he’s bracing himself. Jack hesitates, and Bitty’s throat is so tight he sounds like he’s whimpering when he begs him to get on with it.

“It’s good news, I think. Don’t worry so much, eh?” Jack teases him, but his face isn’t any gentler. The slope of his shoulders is tenser, if anything. “I thought you would want to know I’m moving to Providence.”

“What?” Bitty breathes in a rush. “You’re _what?”_

“It’s not official until I sign, but I decided to accept the Falconers’ contract.”

“Oh, Jack.” He stares at the space between them: two pies, two forks, and an expanse of dubiously sturdy table. He opts to stand instead, and loops his arm around Jack in the bro-est hug he can manage when his first instinct was to crawl across the table and kiss him. “That’s great. Are you happy?”

Jack’s temple rests against Bitty’s ribcage; Eric wonders if Jack can feel the way it makes his heart stutter.

“They’re not a bad team, and George is a great manager. I think it’s the best fit.” He pauses, but he holds his breath like he’s not quite finished. “Are you happy?”

Bitty tugs away to boggle at the cautious smile Jack’s giving him.

“Of course I am, but it doesn’t matter what I think.”

“Yeah, it does.”

Another step away, and Bitty’s completely disentangled from Jack. He doesn’t quite know where to step here – Jack is warming the way ice thaws, but what if he’s fragile the same way? And, frankly, how is Bitty supposed to protect himself while he’s worrying about preserving the slack smoothness at the edge of Jack’s mouth: the absence of a frown.

“I think Providence is still awful far,” Bitty says. “But I think you should sign with the team that feels right, no matter where it is.”

Jack swivels so he’s facing Bitty head-on, and it’s a strange perspective to be looking down at Jack’s face.

“Providence feels right because it’s here. Or, as close the here as I can manage.”

“Oh,” Bitty murmurs. A smile wins its way onto his face like splintered sunlight, and he covers his face with his hands to hide to blush that’s hot as his oven.

He doesn’t understand the pleased tilt to Jack’s lips or the bashful cast to his eyes, and he has no clue what the combination is supposed to mean.  


At least Bitty has time now to figure it all out.  



End file.
